“My name’s Gabe, by the way.”
I carried on walking.
* * *
I closedthe door behind me after entering the guest house and rested back against it, watching my Nan near the stove kneading bread, an old apron on that I remembered buying her at least fifteen years ago, the pictures of various herbs now faded after many washes.
She stopped what she was doing and looked towards me, still continuing to knead.
“You’d be more use if you’d wash your hands and help out rather than stand there like a useless coat rack,” Nan’s blue eyes shone, contradicting the tone of her voice.
“You know I’m useless at making bread, Nan,” I smiled. I was. Kim, my sister, had inherited the domestic genes. I had been the social butterfly. I moved over to Nan, who was slightly shorter than me and a lot more rotund, and found myself wrapped in a warm hug that squeezed the air out of me and made me suspect that in a previous life she’d been a cobra.
“That’s why you’ll never be a baker,” she released and moved back to her dough. “Your mother and Kimberley have gone to town to buy some bits for the baby and Kim needed something to wear for some event or other. They should be back any minute. They’ve been gone ages, but you know how long it takes your sister to choose clothes.”
I nodded. “How’s mum?” I asked, a timer ringing, letting my grandmother know that something had finished cooking.
“She’s coping. But she was close to Marcy, you know,” she leant across the stove and flicked a switch. “We expected it for some weeks – it was obvious she was failing, but your mam’s still taken it hard.”
“How are you?”
Nan up and laughed quietly. “It happens to us all. Nothing’s certain in life except death and taxes. Your Uncle Sam used to think taxes meant the ones that took you places. He may still do.”
I let out a slight laugh. It was typical Nan to make jokes when she probably shouldn’t. And to hide her feelings deep so we didn’t have to worry about her. “Speaking of Sam, is he here?”
“Your granddad would have something to say if he wasn’t now, wouldn’t he? He’s staying with a friend then going back on Saturday.” She put the dough into a deep tin, covered it with a towel and put another tin in the oven. I felt the heat as the oven door was opened and moved back slightly.
“He’s not stayed here?” I asked, opening the fridge door and taking out a pint of milk.
“We’re full. No room at the inn, my dear,” she said, running floury hands under the tap.
“Who’s been helping Grandad while Sam’s not been here?” Sam was my uncle, my grandparent’s other child and only a few years older than me.
“Gabriel. Or Gabe. He’s moved here recently.”
I frowned at her. “I met him before coming in. He was chopping wood round the back of the annex.”
Nan paled. “Sorry. I should’ve told him not to when I knew you were coming.”
The axe. My family knew what had happened. About my nightmares.
“It was fine. He kind of realised something was up when he saw the colour wash out of me. What’s his story, anyway? He was hardly Mister Sociable.”
“London’s not doing anything for your colour, young lady.”
She ignored my question and a rough thumb brushed my cheekbone. I squirmed, feeling eight years old rather than the thirty that I actually was.
“You’ve not turned out bad, kid.”
I forced a smile, noticing the new lines on her face. “I should go and unpack before mum and Kim get back. I’m sure they’ll find a million and one things for me to do when they realise I’m here.”
Footsteps sounded at the back door. Familiar ones, ones I would recognise anywhere at any time.
“Helen!” A male voice yelled through the door. “I need to know what you want me to make for tomorrow.”
“You could have just called, Gerry! You can use a telephone, can’t you? Or are you still on Morse?” Nan shouted back. “Anya,” she kept her voice low. “You scrat into your room, otherwise he’ll have you talking for an hour. You know how he is!”
I nodded, knowing full well what Gerald was like. I picked up the bag she had dropped beside her and made her way out of the kitchen, through to the guest sitting rooms and towards the front door.
